Isn't this beautiful(ly gay)?

I'm pretty easy going to get along with most sports, but I'm pretty sure I draw the line on Rugby. The hits are hard, the guys that play are as hardcore as anyone you'll ever meet, and the alcohol consumed at these functions would be enough to inebriate the wildlife on the Serengeti. But there are no tits at the game, the scoring process is boring, and no one is American. So when France wants to open up a mueseum dedicated to the "art" of Rugby, something inside of me wants to burn the mother-fucker to the ground:

The French host the Rugby World Cup, they're pushing that concept a step further by bringing rugby into an art museum. It's a genteel Parisian touch to a sport more often associated with muscle, body-crunching tackles or even incidents of ear-biting. To coincide with the Sept. 7-Oct. 20 tournament, the Quai Branly museum is hosting rugby-related exhibits, visits and roundtables with archaeologists, historians, sociologists and former players. The museum also covered its roof with green turf and turned it into a mock playing field with a close-up view of the Eiffel Tower. "Rugby is actually very close to what we're showing here," said Pierre Hanotaux, the general director of the museum that is normally devoted to the so-called primitive arts of Africa, Asia, the Americas and Oceania. If that seems like a stretch, he adds, "We can't kid ourselves. It's also our way of bringing in people who never come to museums, because they find museums boring."

That's the ticket, call on rugby to be your entertainment salvation. If I ever wanted to lighten up a party, I just head over to the television and turn on a rugby game. It's a sure fire way to get the ladies "hot and bothered" and have the host be all the envy of the guys. And if you're really feeling spunky, you can just say "fuck the furniture" and have your own game of rugby right there in the house. Everybody loves a game where you start off closely intertwined with your teammates, often times caressing their heated lower extremities covered in sweat and ugly teeth.

By the way, all of that had been true had it no been complete horseshit.

In fact, having rugby on the television is the equivalent to pad-locking your dick and assuring yourself of no tail that night.